The Empire's Fall
by Piplup99
Summary: Empire AU. Haru is the heir to a corrupt throne. Rin is the son of a commoner who landed a position in the imperial court. Despite Haru being a beacon for reviving the dying empire, Rin and his faction hate him, planning a rebellion to overthrow the imperials. The rebellion begins with an attempt to kidnap Haru.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** The Empire AU has come into fruition.

**Warnings:** Gore, mentions of sex.

**Disclaimer:** Although this story is heavily based on Heian Japan, please keep in mind that this is a fictional empire, not Japan. Therefore, not everything will be historically accurate.

* * *

**Prologue:**

Rin had to resist yelping pathetically when his foot suddenly rammed into a rock, throwing the rest of his body forward. The only things stopping him from whimpering when his temple smashed into the ground were the stares of his father walking ahead and the chubby-faced, goatee-chinned aristocrat perched in the carriage, both carrying disdainful expressions.

"You're obstructing the path," the noble scoffed, the presumptuousness of his tone heightened by the silly trill characteristic of the aristocracy. "Our journey is delayed because of you."

_I'm not the one who bedded the innkeeper last night and kept everyone else awake_, Rin almost said out loud, but he didn't. Of course not. If Rin's father, whose dislike of the emperor raged like a thousand widow burnings, could hold back, then Rin could too.

Rin pulled himself to his feet slowly, dusting off the dirt that tainted his gaudy robes and blinking away the tears from the burn at his knees. The oxcart resumed moving, its wheels screaming a cacophony louder than even the crows that surrounded them.

Crows. Supposed messengers of ill-fortune and death that were rampant in the empire due to rising mortality and poor infrastructure. Even the ramshackle inn that Rin's group had rested in last night was surrounded by a protective pentagram, a hocus-pocus, monk-instigated ritual that supposedly deterred the messengers of death. Unlike when Rin lived in the palace, the crows flocked everywhere, always waiting for him to drop dead so they could feed on his corpse.

Not that it mattered. Rin wasn't about to keel over for a murder of scraggly birds, skinned knees or not.

It was a sweltering summer noon, the sun beaming its overbearing rays as the group of travelers walked the bushy path. They had been traveling since the crack of dawn, when Rin was "awakened" from a night of overhearing the aristocrat's failed attempts at sex. They paid the innkeeper a scanty amount—not that the innkeeper knew, being too overwhelmed from servicing court members and actually receiving money to care—before setting out, the noble automatically assuming his seat in the carriage while Rin, Rin's father, the servant, the guide, and the two guards walked. If they kept up their pace, they would reach the port by sundown, get a night of rest, and board the ship the following day.

Despite the ominous crows and tiring walks, Rin was thankful for the journey. It was the first time in almost three years that Rin was escaping the god-forsaken palace since he moved in at the age of nine. Three years of gossip and pretense that softened him incredibly. Three years of being unable to believe how entrenched the nobles were in their fake world of procedures and ceremonies while the rest of the empire rotted. He hated, hated, _hated_ the palace; any opportunity away from it, even traveling to the mainland to help the emperor suck up, was very welcome. Especially after the fight with Haru.

Haru. Rin felt his heart drop.

The last thing Rin said to Haru was a bitter "I hate you!", three spiteful words that flew out of Rin's mouth when he was sniveling and screeching from his due punishment. It wasn't Haru's fault, now that Rin thought about it. Rin shouldn't have expected something like that from Haru, considering his quiet personality. Considering how Rin deserved it in the first place.

Suddenly, the prospect of leaving the palace—leaving Haru—was much less attractive.

Rin walked faster, ignoring the pain at his knees and the sideways glance the noble shot him. It didn't make any difference, his legs being too short and strained and the ox treading no faster than it was before, but for once, Rin was eager return to the palace. To apologize to Haru.

Which was why Rin almost screamed in frustration when he saw the destruction before him.

The group halted right before the downward path they were supposed to take, and the absence of obnoxious squeaks was almost haunting. Even the crows stopped cawing for a split second out of surprise, but it was a split second too long. Crows were the messengers of ill-fortune and death. Something was wrong.

"T-that's strange," the guide stuttered, frowning as he unfurled the map. "It's a bit early for monsoon season."

"What is the meaning of this?" the minister raged, peeking out and startling at the sight of the ruined trail.

"It appears that there was a mudslide here," Rin's father reported calmly, his eyes scanning the overturned dirt, fallen trees, and downward slopes that made the trail impossible to travel. "We need to take a detour."

Rin stared at the decimated path. What was once a pleasant trail dipping into a well-traveled valley was now crushed under rocks, debris, branches, and corpses of unfortunate wildlife, all forming a terrain too steep, too unstable to travel. Rin felt his eyes welling with hot coals.

"W-we have th-three options," the guide continued, jerking slightly. "We can follow the valley's edge and descend e-elsewhere, but t-there's still a risk of m-mudslides. We can go east and c-circumvent the valley the longer way, w-which will delay us by two days, but meets a few t-towns and is the safest option. We can go west, w-which will delay us by only o-one day, but we'll have to go t-through the forest."

The guide pointed at the forest in the distance. It loomed ominously at the horizon.

"We shall go down the valley!" noble bellowed furiously. "I will not tolerate any delays!"

"Minister." Rin's father's hand rose politely. "The land is still unstable. I'm afraid we'll meet certain death if we traverse the valley."

"Are you questioning my authority?"

"Of course not, minister. I simply suggest that we take the eastern path to avoid any deaths."

"Any deaths are the result of the servants' incompetence! I demand the valley path, you impudent fool!"

Rin's father didn't reply, taking a step back and assessing the red-faced minister calculatingly. Then, he bowed.

"Minister, forgive me. It's my utmost interest to preserve your sagacity by protecting your life with all of my ability, thus I humbly suggested taking the surest way to preserve your life. I dearly apologize for my disrespect, minister."

The noble's heavy breaths receded slightly, but the ugly red still splotched his cheeks.

"Perhaps I was wrong to lash out on someone so keen on my preservation, Matsuoka-san. Your humility is the greatest indication of your wisdom." The noble straightened his back in a poor attempt at poise. "Very well. I shall consider your suggestion."

A cough. The emperor and Rin's father averted their eyes in surprise.

"With all due respect, minister," said one of the guards—the squinty-eyed one, "I believe the western path is in our best interests."

The noble sputtered. "No one cares what you believe! The nerve of you, to question a minister's decision!"

"How so?" Rin's father asked, eyes glinting. "Why should we take the western path?"

"Why are you humoring these buffoons? We are taking the eastern path!"

"We believe such precautions to ensure the minister's safety are unnecessary when we, the imperial guards, are serving our duties. It's at the expense of our efficiency that we take these measures."

"Traitors! You are suggesting that I give up my safety for speed?"

"Your logic is sound, but how can you guarantee the minister's safety? Perhaps you're leading us into the forest with intentions of assassinating the minister?"

"Yes! You two are traitors! You are attempting to throw me into danger!"

"I assure you, Matsuoka-sama, that we are loyal, competent guards."

"Liars, all of you! I'll have you beheaded at this very moment!"

"How do we know? Please prove it."

"There's nothing to prove! They're liars!"

The noble's last bellow echoed in the silence. The two guards exchanged a glance before suddenly throwing themselves to the ground, heads low, hands folded, and backs arched humbly forward. Both the minister and Rin's father blinked.

"We apologize, Matsuoka-sama, minister, for our audacity and inability to prove ourselves. This display of humility is the only way we can declare our loyalty. Evaluate us as you wish, but please heed our humble gesture."

Both Rin's father and the aristocrat remained quiet as Rin and the servant watched silently. Then, the minister's pig-head swelled with redness.

"Evaluate you? I evaluate you to be executed!"

"Minister." Rin's father's address was polite, but it silenced the noble. "That's enough. Guards, stand up. We will heed your advice."

"What?" the minister sputtered. "Are you mad? You're the only official accompanying me, yet you are agreeing with these impudent servants? This is treason!"

"Minister, forgive me," Rin's father said silkily, like water, "but I believe that your chances of safety are improved with the western path. Not only will any immediate perils be warded by the guards, you are less likely to risk the emperor's wrath at the tardiness we would encounter taking the eastern path."

The aristocrat's expression was unrelentingly red until Rin's father said "emperor". He paled suddenly.

"S-superb reasoning, Matsuoka-san," the minister replied, not even his characteristic smug trill being able to hide his stutter. "I was right to acknowledge your sagacity. Very well. We shall traverse the western path."

With that, the servant pulled the ox away from the decimated path, the carriage heading straight towards the ghostly forest. All eagerness drained out of Rin's legs as they neared. Rin gulped, watching the cavernous shrubs and outreaching branches come closer and closer.

By sundown, the group had just penetrated the thinnest portion of the forest, yet the trees were already so suffocatingly thick that it was as dark as night. Rin didn't dare lag behind the farther they went into the brush, hovering so closely to his father that his father stepped on his toes—intentionally, probably. Rin ignored it. An angry father, even one like his own, was infinitely better than a dangerous forest.

_Crack_.

Rin audibly whimpered, garnering a disappointed glare from his father and a scoff from the noble. He reached out to take his father's hand before he thought better of it.

_Just a rabbit_, Rin chanted to himself. _A rabbit. A rabbit. A rabbit_.

When they settled for the night in a well-situated, haven-like meadow, Rin almost collapsed from relief. Only the impropriety of the action—it would be the talk of the court for _weeks_—stopped him.

"Rin, come here."

Rin lifted his head up slowly. Being called by his father was never good.

He trudged until he was facing his father, shaded under the canopy of trees. His father regarded him with those steely gray eyes that haunted Rin's dreams.

"Rin, how are your studies?"

"They're well, father." Rin shifted uneasily. "My calligraphy teacher says my strokes are improving."

"And your self-defense?"

Rin furrowed his nose in confusion. "I don't understand. I've only been taught self-defense once."

"How long ago?"

Rin construed an image of the wall behind his bed and counted the dashes he engraved. "A year, I believe."

His father's jaw tightened in such a way that no one would have noticed—no one but Rin. Rin had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of his father's slightest mannerisms.

"Rin," his father finally said again. Rin noted how his father's eyebrows lifted slightly; his father was perturbed.

His father perturbed? That was a scary thought.

"Do you remember what I've taught you?" Rin's father asked lowly.

"Yes," Rin replied, his mouth dry. Of course he remembered. He couldn't forget the lectures, the lessons, the demonstrations even if he wanted to.

"Do you remember your duty?" his father asked again.

"Yes," Rin echoed. "I remember."

His father's hands clasped tightly around Rin's shoulder—strange, Rin's father usually hated human contact—as harsh gray eyes bore into wide red ones. Rin froze as his father searched his eyes before pulling back, apparently satisfied with the answer he found.

"That's good." His father's coldness was back. "Do not fail me, son."

Rin nodded mutely, swallowing. The conversation was over. He headed back to the meadow, where the carriage, the guards, and the general safety was, but the chilled voice of his father stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Rin froze, mind racing.

"I-I'm going to take a rest, father."

His father stared blankly at him. "You shall take your rest here. With me."

Rin stared.

"B-but, father, the carriage is the safest place to—"

"Are you disobeying my order?" his father snapped. Rin gulped, forced out a shaky "no", and trudged slowly to the space beside his father, dusting the bed of leaves aside slowly. He leaned against the tree, entire body tense as he felt his father's presence beside him.

"Rin," his father said again. Rin let out a strangled "yes?".

"You must fulfill your duty no matter what."

Rin swallowed thickly.

"I understand."

"Even if the people you hold dear die."

"Yes, father."

"Even if you have nothing left."

"Yes."

A silence blanketed over them before his father's breaths gained a slow rhythm. He was asleep.

Eventually, Rin fell asleep as well, the rhythmic sighs of his father beside him lulling him to unconsciousness. As always, his father's cold gray eyes accompanied him into his dreams.

* * *

Rin jolted awake when a piercing scream and a loud crash rang through the air. He pushed himself to a sitting position, then looked to his right. His father was not there.

"...trusted you! This is treason! I demand..."

Rin stood awkwardly, stumbling as he made his way out of the tree's shade. He fell forward clumsily before looking up and instantly wishing that he didn't.

Closest to Rin, just a few feet away, was the servant's slaughtered corpse staining the grass a deep red. Cowering against the carriage was the hyperventilating guide, who whispered broken fragments as he trembled uncontrollably. The first guard—the squinty-eyed one—held the minister in a vice-grip, a blade pressed deeply against the noble's plump neck. The other held a sword to Rin's father, the tip breaking a trail of blood down Rin's father's neck.

Everyone froze and whipped their heads to stare at Rin.

"Rin, run away!" his father finally snarled, the discomposure and panic in his tone almost making Rin's knees give out. They didn't, his voice unable to form words and legs unable to move, even when the first guard twisted the minister's head at an odd angle. A sickening crack, then silence. The body fell with a fleshy _thump_.

"You didn't heed my warning, Matsuoka-sama," the guard said calmly. "Look at what you made me do."

Rin felt himself falling to the ground, bloodied grass and twisted heads repeating endlessly in his head. He heard his father scream at him, but he was too dizzy to understand a single word.

"Father?" Rin whimpered, struggling to focus his mind. "What's going on?"

"Rin-kun." The squinty-eyed guard was speaking to him, voice laden with what seemed like pity. "At such a young age, too. Do not take this personally."

Rin heard footsteps crunch the grass, moving closer and closer. Somewhere deep inside, something told him that he was supposed to be panicking, but Rin could only find himself growing number and number.

"Stop!"

His father's voice instinctively snapped Rin out of his daze. Rin looked up, eyes wide with fear, taking in the glowering guard and what he was looking at: Rin's father pressing a blade—the other guard's blade—against the very guard's throat.

"Stop!" His father's voice was more composed this time, but it held every bit of threat it did before. "Leave my son alone, or your companion dies."

The first guard stared in disbelief as admiration surged through Rin's body. His father—never had he been so happy to hear his father's furious voice. His father was saving him. His father was _saving _him.

A chuckle. It burst into a full-blown guffaw, and Rin felt a volatile mix of confusion and anger wash over him. Why was the guard laughing? His companion was about to die. _Why was he laughing?_

"Matsuoka-sama, the rumors are true," the guard finally said, sneering as his fist tightened around his sword. "You're more optimistic than you seem."

The blade darted like lightning before Rin could process the words, its shadow drawing a black stripe over Rin's face. Rin could only stare helplessly as the metal swung down.

This was the end, he realized. He wouldn't fulfill his duty. He wouldn't please his father. He wouldn't apologize to Haru.

"_Rin!_"

Rin didn't catch the subsequent commotion even with his eyes wide open. When he finally realized that the grass still tickled his knees, the wind still tangled his hair, and the world was still there, he jolted out of his daze as if a switch was flicked.

The guard—the one Rin's father had held—knelt on the ground, his own sword burrowed at the crook of his neck and his pin-pointed pupils saying everything his broken throat couldn't. Clacks of armor and angry shouts pierced the air. Rin's father held the remaining guard's throat in a choke hold, wrestling him away from Rin. With a bestial snarl, the guard grabbed Rin's father's neck and threw him on the grass. A blur of metal, a squelch, and a creak later, Rin's father was pinned to the ground by the blade in his chest.

"How dare you," the guard seethed. "How dare you attack me."

Rin's father didn't retort, turning weakly to look at Rin. The light faded away from his eyes, locking them to stare at Rin forever.

"You're next," the guard said, but Rin couldn't hear him. He could only see the few seconds, as sudden as lightning and just as brief, when his father—his terrifying, unbeatable father—was defeated.

The guard's footsteps crunched the grass louder and louder. Rin simply stared at the dead gray eyes that, just a few hours ago, burned a message deep into his mind:

_You must fulfill your duty no matter what._

Then, everything went black.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm back! And yes, the Empire AU won the poll. Blew it out of the water, actually, although honestly I was a bit sad because I was so excited for the Ship AU. Doesn't matter in the end, though, because I'll still be writing both stories and I do enjoy the Empire AU as well.

New readers, welcome! Old readers, do you remember in the last chapter of my previous story when I said I'd be taking a break to focus on school and plan the story before I start? Well that failed. In fact, as I'm typing this, I haven't finished reading my history textbook and I only have about five chapters outlined. I never learn, do I? That being said, don't expect that ridiculous update schedule I had with my previous Free! story. I want to take this story at a slower pace to ensure its quality more than its quantity. I don't know when the next chapter is coming out, unfortunately, but I'll try to get it in within two weeks.

Uuuh, okay! Piplup out! Until next time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **My body is ready. Is yours?

**Disclaimer:** Although this story is based on Heian Japan, please keep in mind that this is a fictional empire, not Japan. Therefore, not everything will be historically accurate. Actually, you'll see a lot of Chinese influences because it's easier for me to draw from, but again, please disregard the historical inaccuracies.

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

The empire of Nozomu. A medium-sized empire ruled by the holy emperor and the sacred imperial family. Its territory was comprised of the large, almost continental main island and its surrounding archipelagos, right off of the mainland's coast. Despite its relatively young age—at least when compared to the ancient mainland—it was as prosperous as any other great empire.

Legend told that a god, displeased with the chaos of the then fetid land, had descended from heaven and blessed a poor man and his family, decreeing them as the saviors who would restore the land. The consecrated family heeded the heaven's every word, creating order in a cesspool of anarchy. Thus, the empire of Nozomu, named after the heaven's wish to purge the world of evil, came to be.

The empire was prosperous in its first two centuries. Trade was abundant. Harvests yielded plenty. Smiles and greetings were exchanged all around, and even the few deviants were punished with a just hand. Truly, the gods were pleased to see their visions of abundance and prosperity come into fruition, but by Nozomu's three hundredth year_, _the empire that once descended from the heavens began to plunge to the sodden plains of the earth.

Corruption. Famine. Trade was put to standstill, fueled by rising greed and the subsequent tensions it caused with the mainland. The administration, once esteemed for its accomplishments, had become callous, seeking to isolating itself from the suffering population. Focusing too much on their bygone traditions and extravagant ceremonies, the empire of Nozomu fell from Heaven's grace.

By the empire's three hundred and sixty-fifth year, Haruka Nanase, the soon-to-be fourteenth descendant of the gods, pitied the heavens for seeing what the empire had become.

* * *

"Nanase-sama, if you don't wake up, I'll tell your father!"

Seventeen-year-old Haruka Nanase, the pallid, azure-eyed heir to the Nozomu throne, jolted from his silk bed despite the common sense that told him it was an empty threat; there was no way a maid like Amakata could speak directly to the emperor. Nonetheless, he felt his heartbeat quicken slightly.

"Look at you, Haruka. Your bed-head is so unbecoming."

"Hush," Haruka muttered, running his hands through his satin-black tresses. If anyone caught Amakata, a lowly servant, addressing the heir so informally, Haruka would be lacking a maid. He internally thanked the gods for the thicker walls that came with being the emperor's only legitimate son.

Amakata pulled away Haruka's covers and ran a gel through his hair meticulously. Soon, the messy mop of hair straightened into straight, neat locks that framed Haruka's face pleasingly. Amakata stripped him of his clothes before wiping a towel over his body.

"Do you want me to bathe you?" she asked when she finished, grabbing Haruka's custom-made perfume from his bedside table and applying it liberally. "You're running late by ten minutes."

"No," Haruka replied almost instantaneously. Ten minutes? A bath alone took twenty. He needed to report to his office by five.

Amakata _tsked._ "The Honorable Ladies next door would have a heart attack if they heard that from you. As Lady Chiharu once said, 'Only a commoner would have the audacity not to bathe five times a day.'"

"No one will know," Haruka deadpanned, pushing himself off of his bed. "And I could have you beheaded for insubordination right now."

Amakata laughed. "But you won't."

Haruka didn't reply. He didn't need to, seeing the knowing look that his maid sent him.

Amakata replaced the perfume and changed Haruka into his court attire, a showy, navy satin robe with intricate orange and red designs and all three layers underneath. The gaudiness of his outfit irked him, but there was little he could do; such extravagance was required of the heir. Amakata adjusted his sleeve with a cheerful hum—not a single part could be even an inch off—before patting him kindly on the shoulders.

"You're ready to go," Amakata chirped. Haruka retrieved his fan from his bedside table and walked to the sliding door. He glanced back at Amakata.

"Any last words?"

"None, Most Honorable Heir." Amakata saluted.

With that, Haruka opened the door.

Despite the early hours—it was not even an hour after sunrise—three nobles were already milling around in the hall Haruka was standing in alone, every one of them perking up as Haruka walked by. Amakata, in eerie contrast to her earlier audacity, was respectfully distant, while greetings and platitudes flew all around Haruka.

"Good morning, Nanase-sama."

"Your dress is impeccable as always, Nanase-sama."

"It's a pleasure to see you this morning, Nanase-sama."

Every compliment, no matter how pleasing, was said with a quiet whisper. The nobles glared at each other distrustfully, each waiting for the moment when one of them spoke too loudly to the esteemed heir, when one of them sealed his or her doom to the palace's gossip mill. Haruka ignored the commotion, back straight, one arm at his back, and the other spreading his gorgeous, thirty-two-slat fan that declared his rank in the palace. Murmurs intensified; Haruka was usually gossiped about in one way or another.

It was natural, given how Haruka established himself. His pleasantly soft cheeks, his angular jaw-line, his sharp nose, and his beautifully pale skin made his face glow with a distinct boyish appeal. Combined with his agreeable disposition—never had he dropped his formalities or went at odds with another noble—he was incredibly popular and well-liked in the palace. But his eyes were his main feature.

Rumors held that Haruka's mother bewitched the emperor with her stunning blue eyes, which Haruka inherited. His father once said that his eyes were the color of the heavens opening up as the first god descended, of the strong navy that painted the sacred family's emblem, of the beautiful sea along the great mainland's coast. Indeed, Haruka's eyes, as well as his legitimacy, were reasons the emperor favored Haruka over his step-brothers.

As usual, the sweet compliments left a bitter taste on Haruka's tongue. Haruka continued walking, offering only the slightest nods to the nobles and wondering why such inane decorum was necessary.

"Did you hear about the hangings?"

A female voice filtered through the paper-thin walls. Haruka felt his curiosity flare.

"In Koto? Or in Nagi?"

Koto was the capital of Nozomu, home of the imperial palace. Nagi was a large, mercantile city located along the south coast. Haruka had seen neither, despite being born and raised in Koto.

"Both," the first woman replied. "The court's commuters were found hung in public places across Koto. Imperial merchants and ambassadors are also being hung in Nagi."

"How awful that those commoners insist on creating ruckuses!"

"I'm afraid there's more. One of the low-class bureaucrats was Hoshino."

"Hoshino? That charlatan?"

"Precisely."

"Good! That debased man deserved to be hung. He was such a rude fellow. His handwriting was abysmal."

Nobles around Haruka beamed, seemingly calculating how to twist the lady's words into a declaration against the emperor. How unfortunate, Haruka thought. Yet another lady's reputation would be ruined by the gossip mill.

When Haruka exited the palace's residential building, walking into the slightly frosty morning, he scanned his surroundings for a familiar mop of brown hair. When he saw none, he frowned.

"Servant," Haruka called to Amakata, the impersonal title making the syllables spill awkwardly. "Where's Makoto?"

Makoto Tachibana was Haruka's trusty personal guard. Haruka had known Makoto since they were just children, and the juxtaposition of Makoto's harsh job and his soft personality had always befuddled Haruka.

"I believe he's currently on a mission, Nanase-sama," Amakata replied respectfully.

Haruka frowned. That wasn't right. As a personal guard, Makoto was forbidden to receive orders from anyone but Haruka and the emperor, missions included.

"Do you know the details of his mission?" Haruka asked.

"I apologize, Nanase-sama, but I do not. I was simply told that Makoto-san was out on a top-secret mission."

"Please inform me right away when Makoto returns," Haruka ordered. Concern prickled at Haruka's skin, but he forced it away. Makoto knew how to take care of himself. Worrying about Makoto did nothing to help the situation.

They followed the open path, leading from the emperor's buildings and surrounding elite residences to a slightly more modest building to the south. The scenery transitioned from the blooming irises, chrysanthemums, and lilies into a clear stone ground with nothing but red-roofed buildings decorating the area. Haruka entered the nearest one, greeting the few bureaucrats present with a polite nod, and headed for his office with Amakata in tow.

When Haruka slid open the door to his office, he was much displeased to find a man clad in golden robes, with a black cloth draped over his right shoulder and a straw hat that threatened to fall off, rifling through his papers. The man froze and stared upon their entrance, the sudden jolt shaking the hat off to reveal unruly, certainly-not-holy blond hair.

"Nanase-sama!" the man exclaimed, a grin spreading from cheek to cheek across his face. "And dear Amakata. May your morning be blessed by the gods."

"Monk Sasabe," Haruka returned, eyes narrowing. "What are you doing in my office?"

Goro Sasabe was a member of the local monastic order and the emperor's most trusted adviser. Haruka had no idea what his father was thinking in trusting the monk. Sasabe, like monks in general, could spout religious platitudes like a geyser, but there was always a manipulative glint in his eyes.

"Peace, Most Honorable Heir," Sasabe returned easily, his hands raised in a gesture of submission. "I was simply endowing you with prayers for a fruitful morning."

"By sifting through my papers?"

"Dear Nanase-sama, I did it solely out of concern for your well-being. Your father wishes for me to evaluate your performance as an administrator, and I wish to bring only the best of news."

Oily, slick words, just as expected from a monk like Sasabe. Haruka didn't reply, wordlessly pointing at the door and watching the monk grab his hat and slink away with a religious goodbye.

"Oh, by the way," Sasabe suddenly said, peeking into the office. "Rin Matsuoka was found yesterday. He's returning tonight, and the emperor is throwing a welcome party for him."

Haruka's glare dissipated into wide eyes. Sasabe smiled cheerfully and said another goodbye.

"Wait, what are you—"

_Slam_. The door closed, leaving Haruka standing in silence.

The room was suddenly plunged in a deep tension. Haruka felt his hand slacken, his intricate fan slipping past his grip and clacking onto the tatami mats.

"Rin?" Haruka wheezed, feeling his lungs burn as his breaths became shorter. "Rin Matsuoka? _Rin_?"

A hand set gently on his shoulder. Amakata. Haruka couldn't feel it over the waves of disbelief that dulled his senses.

_He must be kidding_, Haruka thought. _He's trying to play me for a fool_.

Rin Matsuoka was, besides Makoto, Haruka's closest friend. The last Haruka saw of Rin was when he left with his father to the mainland five years ago, just two weeks before Rin was pronounced dead.

It had been a rainy afternoon. Haruka had been in the imperial garden, learning landscape painting from his private tutor. An imperial soldier with squinty eyes and dirty armor had burst through the palace gates, demanding an immediate hearing from the emperor and disappearing into one of the palace's many buildings. Soon, a squad of soldiers was dispatched, but Haruka thought nothing of it at the time. It was probably just another peasant revolt.

One week later, the squad returned and spoke to the emperor. That evening, when Haruka was eating his meal, Amakata had given him a series of facts that shattered his world:

1. That the group sent to negotiate with the mainland, which Rin was a part of, was ambushed by bandits in a forest.

2. That the servant, the minister, the second guard, and Rin's father were found dead at the scene.

3. That the guide's and Rin's bodies were missing.

4. That Rin was most likely dead.

The guard who burst into the palace was a survivor of the incident, reversing a full three days of travel to report to the emperor. The squad that was dispatched investigated the scene of the ambush, finding no evidence of the guide's or Rin's survival. By the time the squad returned, Rin had been MIA for almost two weeks.

"I lied," Amakata said, her voice soft and her hand squeezing his shoulder. "Makoto's escorting Rin to the palace. The news came last night, and Makoto demanded to go. He knows what Rin means to you."

"This isn't funny," Haruka said. Amakata smiled.

"It's not supposed to be."

Haruka didn't know how incredibly cruel Amakata was until that point. To take the death of Haruka's dear friend who had been eaten by the crows for five years, with whom his last exchange was a horrible, horrible argument, and saying that he was going to return as if nothing had ever happened—Haruka almost wanted to laugh.

"Servant, bring me tea," Haruka said, his voice flat. "I'm going to begin my work."

Amakata bowed respectfully. "His Excellency also demands that everyone ceases work by noon to prepare for Matsuoka-sama's arrival this evening."

"Be quiet, Amakata," Haruka snapped, not meeting her eyes as he sat on the ground before his table and shuffled the papers. Amakata smiled wryly.

"I apologize, Nanase-sama, but as the high monk said once, 'A scowl is the most dastardly curse of the heaven's gifts.'"

Haruka didn't say anything as the sliding door clicked shut behind him, reaching down to pick up his fan numbly. He opened the fan slowly, revealing the gorgeous crane painted delicately on paper and the thirty-two slats underneath.

Sixteen more slats than Rin's.

Haruka wanted to throw his fan against the delicate paper that formed his walls. He didn't, putting it down shakily and focusing on the papers scattered across his table. He drowned himself in statistics and bureaucracy, feeling himself retreat farther and farther into his own world.

Noon came much too soon.

* * *

"Haruka, are you still mad?"

Haruka ignored Amakata, but when she roughly yanked his hair as she combed it, he jerked his head up and glared.

"Stop," he hissed. A particularly cruel pull made Haruka cringe. "I'll have you punished, servant."

Amakata looked at him critically. "You're going to punish me for asking about your well-being and trying to get your attention when I'm ignored."

"I'm going to punish you for your lies about Rin."

Amakata pulled the comb out of Haruka's hair, smoothing it before gently placing a ceremonial black hat on top. "Well, you'll have to wait until after Rin's reception because I need to change your clothes."

Haruka sat numbly, frozen as he stared into his dead-eyed reflection. He watched Amakata's practiced hands pull off his already gaudy robes and replace them with an outrageously ornamented ceremonial robe, painted with glaring gold, streaked with bleak black, and dappled with resplendent red. Its sleeves, neck line, and hem line were a bleak black like his headgear, and the combined layers pressed what felt like a hundred tons on his shoulders.

"Rin isn't coming back," Haruka said, his voice stale as Amakata measured his sleeves carefully.

Amakata huffed. "The rest of the court seems to disagree."

"They have the wrong person. Rin is dead."

Amakata grabbed a nearby bottle and began slathering white foundation on Haruka's face. "The emperor is many things, Haruka, but senile isn't one of them. Makoto isn't the only guard who left, you know? About a third of the palace's soldiers are escorting Rin to the palace."

Amakata's hands moved to Haruka's neck, and he took the opportunity to speak. "My father is wrong. He's cooped up in his room all day, surrounded by all his guards. How can he know anything?"

Amakata's hands stopped mid-swipe. "Haruka, you should know better than anyone to not speak badly of the emperor."

Haruka's eyes drooped. "Rin isn't coming back."

Amakata sighed. "If you say so, Most Honorable Heir."

Amakata grabbed an eyeliner pencil and began tracing Haruka's eyes carefully. She then sharpened his brows and applied a rich cream to his lips, pulling back with a nod of approval.

"I said before that a scowl is a curse of the heaven's gifts," Amakata began, helping Haruka stand up from his chair. "It still holds true. Especially for you. Don't mar your precious face with that ugly frown of yours. Your mother must be rolling in her grave."

Haruka grunted, stumbling as he tried to balance with his oppressive ceremonial outfit. He looked into the mirror at the beautiful stranger with a pale face, handsome cheekbones, plush lips, and smoke-rimmed lashes that highlighted gorgeous blue irises. He felt himself sagging, and not just from the weight of his robes.

"It's a lie," Haruka said, the words slipping uncontrollably past his lips. "Even if I play along with your farce, there's no way my father would do this for Rin. He hates him."

"Have you forgotten how the palace works, Haruka?" Amakata looked at him skeptically. "Your father loves ceremonies. Ceremony for this, ceremony for that. A noble's arrival, even of a hated one, is certainly not the most mundane event your father had held a ceremony for."

"Rin isn't a noble."

"He was. A low one with special circumstances, yes, but he was." Amakata sighed. "Haruka, are you so against believing that Rin is alive? One would think you'd be _happy _to hear this."

Haruka closed his eyes. "Be quiet, Amakata. I don't want to talk about this."

Amakata did not try to push her case. Only the slight clinks of Amakata setting the cosmetics on the nightstand sounded in the room.

"Nanase-sama, permission to enter."

A servant's voice filtered thinly through Haruka's paper walls. Haruka called a confirmation, and a short attendant slid the door open.

"His Excellency demands you to assume your position in the reception hall, Most Honorable Heir."

"Tell my father that I am on my way," Haruka muttered. The attendant bowed and disappeared. Amakata steadied Haruka as he took a few tentative steps to grab his fan, but as soon as she pulled open the sliding door, Haruka carried himself alone.

Back straight. Head high. Arms folded behind his back. If it was proper to do so, nobles would be staring at him with dropped jaws. The last time he wore this particular ensemble was at his tenth birthday, and that was already stunning with his small, childish frame. Seven years later, now that Haruka was already a bureaucrat and almost a full-fledged man, the resized outfit and his broadened shoulders made him look regal. He truly was a descendant of the gods.

The paths and halls were cluttered with frantic nobles and servants, the former applying last-minute makeup to their sheet-white faces and the latter running with banners, dishes, and tables on hand. Like the heavens beaming through gloomy clouds, Haruka's deliberate steps parted the hubbub with the precision of a calligraphy brush. Everywhere, in building halls and garden paths, esteemed nobles and lowly servants alike halted and saluted ceremoniously as Haruka walked by. For once, Haruka appreciated the decorum. It certainly made walking to the distant reception hall much easier.

By the time Haruka entered the reception hall in the first building upon entering palace grounds, Haruka's lungs burned and his shoulders ached, but he didn't dare slacken his body. His father, Monk Sasabe, and the two imperial ministers were watching.

Amakata nodded respectfully and parted from Haruka's side, walking to where the other maids and manservants stood. Haruka stepped forward to the very end of the reception hall, standing quietly at his father's side, opposite of where Monk Sasabe stood. Haruka took the opportunity to survey the hall.

The reception hall, showy even in its naked form, was decorated with ceremonial banners and a deep red cloth that led from the grand double doors at the south and to the podium where, going clockwise, the left minister, Monk Sasabe, the emperor, Haruka, and the right minister stood. Servants and nobles stood in rows lining the path, their hands raised in a salute to the returnee who would walk along the red trail. At the very end of the path stood a short ebony table before the emperor. Atop were two cups of tea. Rin—if it was really Rin—would share a drink with the emperor when he arrived.

Now, it was a waiting game.

The room appeared frozen in time. Servants, nobles, ministers alike stood stock-still, not daring to even exhale too loudly. The emperor, clad in his ceremonial robes of starlight gold and black streaks parallel to Haruka's own, and a black hat twice as large, ornate, and heavy as Haruka's, stroked the edge of his equally hefty fan impatiently. Even the normally audacious Monk Sasabe kept a straight face. No one dared to breathe.

A side door burst open, and everyone stiffened their postures before a panting servant stumbled into the hall. They glared at him.

"Your Excellency," the servant wheezed, doubled over. "Rin Matsuoka is entering now!"

A boom at the grand palace doors sounded right on time. The servant slunk away, forgotten, as everyone stiffened their postures again for the true returnee.

Haruka didn't know what to expect. Maybe a completely unfamiliar quack who was Rin only by claim. Maybe a ghost. Maybe no one at all. But as soon as the grand palace doors slid slowly open, revealing a figure surrounded by swaths and swaths of stoic guards, any remaining disbelief was knocked out of Haruka like the breath in his lungs.

In a way, he _was_ an imposter. He wore rugged armor and tattered robes that the old Rin would have never worn. His arms and shoulder line, too, were much firmer, harsh with a wiry strength that foretold tough labor, something a noble like Rin would have never experienced. His once round face had sharpened into fierce planes and jagged angles, and not just from the loss of baby fat. There was a hunger at his cheeks.

And then there were his eyes. They were the same red hue with a clever, rash glint that always excited Haruka. But they weren't the same, not quite. They were darker, colder, more foreboding.

Haruka wondered what happened to Rin in the past five years.

A guard at the front of the procession, the squinty-eyed one, stood forward. "Your Excellency, your servants have returned with Rin Matsuoka."

The emperor, looking down at the frosty-eyed returnee, uttered, "Proceed."

Clacks rang as Rin's wooden sandals met the red-clothed floor. Haruka mentally counted the ominous ticks that crescendoed as they neared, thrumming like the steady pulse of a metronome. _Twelve, thirteen, fourteen—_Haruka whispered a quiet _fifty _when Rin stopped. Rin stood at the foot of the podium, looking at the emperor, not Haruka, before bowing lowly.

"Your Excellency. Most Honorable Heir." His eyes met Haruka's. "It's my greatest pleasure to see you."

Rin's words were as cold as the winter air.

The emperor nodded coolly. Haruka swallowed, wetting his throat and forcing a banal acknowledgement from his mouth. Haruka stared into those frigid eyes, deeply and vibrantly red, yet so frosty that not even the winter bite could compare.

He wondered who his old friend had become.

* * *

**A/N: ****CapturedByNoodles**, bby, I thank thee. You are the water to my Haruka. Or the Haruka to my water. The Harulhu to my crack. You are an amazing beta, fo' sho.

Jeez, y'all must have an obsession with kidnapping or empires or something because the reception was kind of insane. Fifteen favorites and twenty-nine follows? Y'all need to get lives. (Kidding, I love you all. Submit your life to me.)

(And yes, I love saying y'all. I can't help it. My inner cowgirl is calling to me.)

Also, the disclaimer is kind of important because I'll only be straying further and further away from the "based on Heian Japan" thing as I go. Nonetheless, I have plenty of drama planned for everyone, so I hope the historical accuracy is not an issue.

Thanks to all the reviewers! Peque Saltamontes, xx, curosityisn'tcurious, vakiromi, PinkSugarDust, Vaelliance, l1zHarvey, Ko-Sensei. Some new faces, some old faces, but I love you all equally. Okay, that might not be true because I'm getting married to **Ko-Sensei**, but hush. Pretend you didn't read that. The gay shoujo sparkles cleanse that knowledge from your mind.

Until next time, which will hopefully be within two weeks!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **So sorry for the slight lateness! This chapter killed me. Really.

******Disclaimer:** Although this story is based on Heian Japan, please keep in mind that this is a fictional empire, not Japan. Therefore, not everything will be historically accurate.

**Disclaimer #2****: **I'm sorry I'm not a poet please forgive these abominations D:

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

Haruka knew very little of his mother and remembered even less.

He knew that she was beautiful and desired despite her relatively low rank among the aristocracy. He knew that she sometimes said treasonous words, the emperor's infatuation with her being the only thing that saved her for so long. He knew she was killed by forces from within the palace when he was only four years old. Haruka wasn't sure whether it was an envious noble or the emperor himself.

Haruka only had one memory of his mother before she died, and it haunted him persistently.

In his memory, the features of her face and the colors of her robes had long since faded into a blank slate. Her voice was toneless, unrecognizable, like so many nobles who went in and out of Haruka's life. Only her knee-length hair, distinctively satin-black like Haruka's own, remained clear in Haruka's mind, swaying like the yellow-orange fire of the palace door's lanterns at night.

"I don't want to," four-year-old Haruka huffed, crossing his arms and sticking his bottom lip out in a defiant pout. Haruka's mother, from where she sat at the edge of the gazebo in the royal garden, sighed, extending a hand towards Haruka.

"Come, child. Geometry is useful in life. You shouldn't be so reluctant to learn it."

Haruka stepped back from the hand, sulking. "No."

"Ungrateful child," his mother muttered. "If I were anyone else, you'd be abandoned on the streets."

Haruka knew that very well. If Haruka had learned anything from his brief years in the palace, it was the power of the omnipresent gossip mill that amplified every unattractive word into treasonous poison. Nonetheless, he pouted.

"No. Too hard."

It was the truth. His four-year-old mind struggled to understand the concept of fractions and negative numbers, and calculating areas and volumes was nothing more than a distant dream to him. His mother didn't seem to understand, her gaze still stubbornly fixed on Haruka's.

"Child, listen to me. Geometry is a skill you need to become a successful member of the court. You can create glorious architecture with geometry. You can calculate the trajectory of your throws with geometry. Every respectable noble knows geometry."

"But father doesn't."

A weary sigh. "Your father is special, child. He's the emperor, the thirteenth descendant of the gods who created this empire. He doesn't need to know geometry because he can have other people learn it for him."

"So I don't have to learn," Haruka said quietly. His mother, although faceless in his memory, shot him a withering glare.

"Don't you dare, child. You will be educated and respectable. You will be smart, be able to think for yourself, be able to question things. I won't let you become like your father."

Treasonous words from his own mother. Curiosity dampened his anger.

"Why?"

His mother patted the space beside her, and Haruka sat down on the edge of the pavilion. "I'll tell you when you're older, child, but remember. A good ruler is educated and aware. A good ruler doesn't let his personal interests cloud his judgment. A good ruler improves the empire's quality of life as a whole, not just his own. I have faith in you, child. Be a good ruler."

Haruka nodded quietly, and his mother's hand rested on his head, patting him gently. The sudden quietude, so out-of-the-blue like the crow that one day entered palace grounds, wafted through the air as Haruka and his mother quietly watched the ripples of the koi pond and the sway of the chrysanthemums in the palace garden.

"You still have to learn geometry," his mother said suddenly. Haruka's shoulders fell forward as he pouted, and his mother seemed to gloat. "You thought you got out of it, didn't you?"

"Fine," he grumbled, his defiance dying. His mother laughed, her giggles ringing through Haruka's head like a nightingale's song.

That was the last exchange he shared with his mother before she died.

Haruka was never sure what death meant. He knew its theory and mechanics well, the years of learning history and hearing gossip solidifying how rampant, unavoidable, and permanent it was, but in Haruka's world, death was as distant as the crows that hovered at the edge of the palace walls. As intangible as the early morning fog that pervaded during his mother's funeral. As meaningless as his mother's disappearance from his life.

Perhaps not meaningless, Haruka would later come to realize. The fact that he retained the memory alone was evidence of his mother's ghostly presence in his life, and her then confounding words haunted his dreams every night. One scolding was enough to break his stubbornness completely, and he proceeded to excel in all his classes: calligraphy, landscape painting, poetry, literature, political science, history, philosophy, law, and, of course, geometry, but he held his poetry lessons most dear.

In fact, it was through poetry that Haruka began to understand his mother's words.

* * *

"Nanase-bocchan, what are you doing?"

Seven-year-old Haruka looked up behind him, at the towering figure of his poetry tutor. He turned away with a shrug, refocusing his attention to watching the pond intently. His teacher scoffed.

"Nanase-bocchan, you haven't recited the last poem. If this keeps up, you'll be a good thousand poems behind your peers, and you're the _heir_."

"_The water is alive_," Haruka replied vaguely, his voice a whisper as he watched the ripples from the small koi and the aquatic flora breaking his perfect reflection. He was almost tempted to touch the pond's surface, to further shatter that image, but his tutor wasn't so sympathetic.

"Don't recite a poem you memorized when you were _five_," his tutor sighed with his trademark dramatics; eyes rolling, head swiveling in a perfect circle, lips flapping as an unholy amount of air was forced out of his lungs. "If I don't teach you anything, your father will have me beheaded, and I would like my head on my shoulders, thank you very much."

Haruka tore his gaze away regretfully. "You're the only person who's so rude to me, Sensei."

The tutor's eyebrows rose a good inch from its standard position. "Well excuse me, Most Honorable Heir. I only am because you don't care. And I wouldn't dare do this with keen ears nearby."

"I'm going to tell Makoto."

"How horrifying. I'm terrified to see what a seven-year-old will do to me. Will he decapitate me? Chop off my limbs? Hang me to become crow-feed?"

Haruka scowled. His tutor could deride him with sarcasm—really, how could a master of poetic art be so crude?—as much as he wanted to, but when Makoto was involved, Haruka drew the line.

"Makoto's scary," Haruka huffed, chest puffed forward. "He's learning to be my personal guard."

"I recall him crying when he saw a cockroach the other day."

Haruka remembered that. Soft Makoto had come running to Haruka, tears trailing down his face and begging the heir to eradicate the scourge, which Haruka did very promptly with his fan.

"That doesn't count," Haruka replied automatically. His tutor looked at him pointedly, and Haruka tore himself away from the pond and sat in the gazebo with a sigh.

"Poem. Now." His tutor slapped the wood of the gazebo with his fan. Haruka sighed again before taking in a deep breath.

_—_

Births spotting the barren land

Cities and ships beginning to stand

Doves exchanged with adjacent friends

Heaven's gold-black helpers ascend

Wretchedness falling to just force

Heaven's blessing in its course

Navy emblems on rising walls

The empire has yet to fall

_—_

"Good. Who wrote it?"

Haruka sighed. "The first emperor's advisor."

"What else about him?"

"He was a philosopher, poet, architect, botanist, and devout monk. He codified Nozomu law, created a bureaucracy, overhauled the economy and the labor system, established relations with the mainland, oversaw infrastructure projects, funded the building of five hundred residences and buildings across Nozomu, and began building the imperial palace."

"Good. What is the poem about?"

"It's about how the empire's improving."

"Specifically?"

"Growing population. Rise of ports and trade cities. Trade and relations with the mainland. Monasteries beginning to rise. Standing army stopping crime. Palace being built."

"Good. Very good." His tutor nodded, stroking his pointed beard sagely. "Despite your incessant need to answer in fragments, you seem to show mastery of this content."

Haruka stared at him pleadingly. The tutor sighed.

"Your assignment for today is to write five couplets concerning the gods and their patronage of our empire. You are dismissed."

Without ado, Haruka leaped from pavilion and walked away, making sure to slow down and admire the garden pool as he passed. His tutor was probably rolling his eyes melodramatically again, but Haruka didn't care. Haruka was free. For an hour, at least.

His thoughts turned to Makoto, who, if the sky was a good indication, should have just finished his lessons. Soft, kind Makoto. Haruka felt affection swell up. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Haruka took a sharp left, away from the office building his next lesson was in, and towards the soldiers' barracks.

The soldiers were regarded in a special light by the rest of the palace. They certainly weren't low class, given their rising numbers and the emperor's growing demand for protection, but they were outsiders. A necessary sacrilege of the holy palace. They were picked from the outside world with seemingly no criteria save for young age and mysterious back-stories, and then trained for years upon years to become the emperor's loyal soldiers. Makoto was brought into Haruka's life the same way, and whenever Haruka probed about Makoto's past, the boy would shrink into a quiet shell of muteness. Haruka soon learned not to ask.

Soon enough, the familiar sounds of clanging swords and flitting arrows sounded. Haruka ducked behind a nearby building, spying the armored figures going in and out of the antiquated stone building. His eyes lifted slightly when he spied a familiar mop of brown hair appear from the training grounds. Makoto nodded at a fellow soldier before stepping towards the barracks, but a stray pebble skittering past his feet stopped him. He looked behind him confusedly before perking with delight.

"Nanase-sama!" he exclaimed softly with his strange lilt, waving shyly at him. The brunet surreptitiously glanced from side to side before dashing to where Haruka hid. He bowed a full ninety degrees.

"Nanase-sama, I am so honored by your presence," Makoto gushed when he rose from his bow, eyes sparkling. Haruka couldn't resist smiling lightly; while he was accustomed to the same sweet-talk from other nobles, Makoto was genuine with every word.

Soft, endearing Makoto. When Haruka heard that he was getting a personal guard, he had been irritated. A guard was a liability in the palace, where violence was present only in his history tutor's dusty scrolls. Amakata, alone, irritated Haruka enough with her incessant presence, but to have yet another person follow him around wherever he went—Haruka could almost scream.

He met Makoto in the ceremony that began their bond as master and servant. The boy, big-boned and fit, yet so small and insignificant in the gravely colored kimono he wore—Haruka could not, for the life of him, keep his grasp on those silly strings of animosity. Makoto was wide-eyed and timid, and his dark complexion and strange cadence clearly told his origins from outside the palace, but just as Haruka saw shelter in Makoto, Makoto saw shelter in him. Thus began their strange, yet fitting, friendship.

Haruka took Makoto's greeting with a silent nod, simply spreading his fan, but Makoto could still hear his unsaid words.

"The cherry tree is blooming," Makoto offered with a shy smile. "We can play around it."

At an isolated corner of the imperial garden stood an old and still-aging cherry tree, surrounded by a square that was used for anything from social gatherings to ceremonies. True to Makoto's words, the mid-Spring weather brought about a blooming of pink buds, the breeze scattering the petals randomly throughout palace grounds. The thought of seeing the proud, blooming tree made Haruka perk up slightly.

"Okay," Haruka said. Makoto brightened like a firework.

"That's great!" he gushed. "You've never seen one, right?"

Again, Haruka was astounded by his friend's ability to read his mind. He pushed the thought aside, nodding quietly. Makoto beamed before they began moving, strides long, mouths quiet, and eyes eager.

Silently, Makoto led Haruka to the square, ducking behind corners skillfully and gently directing Haruka through the motions of sneaking. Makoto explained his actions softly, recounting his lessons of stealth and deception animatedly, and Haruka felt his head swimming from how much his friend knew, despite all appearances. Makoto would be a skilled guard when he grew up, Haruka realized. Haruka found a strange, unreasonable pride swelling in his bosom.

When they finally reached the cherry tree, devoid of human presence except their own, Haruka was panting. His legs ached and his lungs heaved, yet Makoto looked completely comfortable. Makoto watched Haruka patiently as Haruka caught his breath, and Haruka felt a strange mixture of insult and admiration, the former because he _hated _being pitied, and the latter because Makoto was truly an amazing soldier.

Not that being an amazing soldier in such a peaceful world meant anything, Haruka thought. Sadly true, as cruel as it was.

The tree was large compared to the shorter, younger trees that dotted the garden, yet deceivingly modest. No one knew exactly how old the tree was, but every imperial botanist agreed that it existed before the empire itself, back when chaos plagued the land. It was lonely, its brethren gone from decades of disease, frost, and age, but the miraculous cherry tree remained. It should have died long ago, but it was still blooming with all the vigor and life of spring.

"You should try climbing the tree," Makoto urged as he pounced on the trunk, pulling himself up. Haruka looked at the expectant green eyes before visualizing his hands being chafed by rough bark and his kimono being browned by dirt and dead insects. He wrinkled his nose.

"Don't want to," he muttered, sitting on a bench. Makoto deflated for the slightest of seconds before rebounding, pulling himself higher up the flowering tree. Haruka watched the sight, amazed that someone could be so crude and unsophisticated yet bring such wonderful company. Makoto was like a monkey, Haruka thought. A green-eyed, brown-haired monkey with a crippling phobia of bugs.

"Haru-chan!"

Haruka snapped out of his daze, startled by the informal tone. He looked up at the tree.

"Look at me! I'm a bat!"

Makoto hung upside down from a branch, supported solely by his hooked knees. Haruka could not quite hold back a smile, and Makoto beamed.

Makoto eventually jumped down from his perch and sat beside Haruka, quiet and careful to leave space, yet bearing a look of understanding that meant he could read everything on Haruka's mind. Briefly, Haruka wondered if he should tell Makoto about what his poetry tutor said, about how the tutor had looked down on him.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Haru-chan?"

Good old Makoto and his almost heavenly ability to read Haruka's mind.

"Sensei said you were weak," Haruka said. He didn't need to elaborate on which sensei he was referring to, seeing how Makoto shrank back slightly, eyes lowering.

"Don't worry, Haru-chan," Makoto said quietly. "I promise I'll be a good guard."

Haruka scoffed. "It doesn't matter. There's no violence in the empire. There's no reason to be a good guard."

Makoto regarded Haruka with candid, open eyes, and they revealed a strange mixture of dolefulness, thought, and surprise.

"Haru-chan," Makoto said before he hesitated. He bit his lip, seeming to mull it over, before continuing. "Do you know why I came here?"

That wasn't what Makoto wanted to say. Haruka could tell. Nonetheless, Haruka shook his head, his curiosity overcoming him.

"I lived in Koto before I came here," Makoto began, turning away to stare at his folded hands. "I lived with my mother, my father, and my little brother and sister. We lived in a cottage at the edge of the city. We were farmers."

He breathed. "We weren't—well, we had some trouble. Our crops were hard to take care of, and there were bugs. We didn't have a lot of money. We needed money, though, so I came here."

Makoto's voice broke at the last few words. Haruka felt his brows knit.

"So the emperor is paying you for learning how to be a guard?"

Makoto pursed his lips. "In a way."

Haruka found a scowl etching his face as irritation washed over him. "What do you mean? In what way? Why would my father pay you to learn? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

Makoto seemed to shrink back even more, and Haruka almost regretted snapping at him. Almost.

"Haru-chan," Makoto murmured, his voice softer than the breeze. "Do you ever... wonder why? Or what's outside the palace walls?"

Haruka felt his fingers twitch out of annoyance. "I do, but the people who know what's out there refuse to give me straight answers."_  
_

Makoto flinched.

"Well, it's really different from the palace," Makoto said softly, his body hunched forward timidly. "We don't dress up everyday. We don't have many ceremonies. Our food isn't always the same. We don't worry about politics or lessons or being polite."

"I'm jealous," Haruka said flatly. Makoto jolted to stare at him, and Haruka resisted the urge to grate his teeth.

"Are you really?" Makoto asked softly.

"Yes," Haruka snapped. He glared into Makoto's eyes until the brunet finally turned away.

"Never mind," Makoto muttered softly.

_Good job, Makoto**, **_Haruka found himself thinking angrily. _Thanks for ruining what was supposed to be a fun break_.

The remaining few minutes were thick with a heavy silence, broken only when Haruka stood up abruptly and announced that he needed to attend his next class. Makoto said a shy goodbye, smiling in that gentle way that made Haruka both irritated and shameful, before Haruka walked away coolly. When Haruka glanced backward, he saw the same expression of sadness and pity etched on Makoto's face.

Haruka turned back, anger fanning. He _hated_ pity. Especially from Makoto. He didn't need an outsider looking down on him.

A year passed, and slowly, Haruka began to suspect the meaning behind Makoto's words.

* * *

Eight-year-old Haruka lifted his fan to his face, hiding his tensely pursed lips as his poetry tutor perused the parchment critically. The tutor looked up, eyebrows raised and his lips pressed into a firm line—an ominous sign of deep thought.

_I'm going to fail_, Haruka thought with a mix of despair and irritation. _My tutor's going to condemn me to six more years of boredom_.

Sitting on the edge of the garden pavilion, Haruka braced himself for his tutor's judgment, the last of his nine evaluations. His eighth birthday, just one week ago, marked the beginning of his examinations; Haruka would be evaluated by each of his tutors in their respective subjects, a ruling that would determine whether Haruka would begin his administrative training or return to another six years of tedious lessons. If his poetry tutor approved, Haruka would immediately head to an administrative meeting. If he did not, an attendant would report to the waiting bureaucrats of Haruka's failure, and Haruka would return to the endless cycle of lessons, tests, and lessons.

The firm line melted into a frown. Haruka's future was not looking good.

"You show great aptitude for creative writing," the tutor said carefully, slowly. "Your poems display a mastery of language, and your compositions are thought-provoking. Your subject matters, however—"

The tutor cut himself off, squinting as he regarded Haruka closely.

"—although I can find a few... _objections _to your topics, I shall abstain from commenting or suggesting alterations."

He paused, stroking his beard.

"Tell me, young master, what have you learned about our empire in your history lessons?"

Haruka felt himself leafing through shelves and shelves of lessons and tests. "The origins of our empire. The history of our gods. Who they are and what they patronize. How the empire grew. Our peoples. Our interactions with the mainland. The mainland's history. The imperial family lineage. The emperors. The ministers. The laws. The cities. The trade. The foreign peoples to the west."

"So what do you know about the empire in general? Is it good? Is it bad?"

Haruka paused, thinking over his lessons. His history teacher, who told him the empire was glorious in every way. His confusion when random contradictions spotted the otherwise pristine story. His frustration when Makoto refused to clarify.

"Nozomu is a great empire, but I have encountered curious contradictions."

"And these contradictions you speak of—I see you are not afraid to express them."

The tutor motioned at the parchment lying on the gazebo's edge. Haruka did not comment, his grip tightening on his fan. The tutor continued stroking his beard thoughtfully as Haruka tried to still his fidgeting.

"You have a rare gift," his tutor finally muttered, but it was so soft and uneven that Haruka did not know if it was meant for his ears. "Your perception is uncanny, and your ability to express such perceptions—this is rare. Very rare. Especially here, in the palace."

His tutor stopped stroking his beard, picking up the parchment and rolling it up.

"I shall overlook this issue," his tutor said. "You passed."

Elation flooded over Haruka. It was too good to be true, Haruka thought in his waves of delight, but Haruka definitely wouldn't question it. Eight years of tedious preparation for a phantom goal. Now, Haruka would finally _do _something instead of dawdling away in lessons, lessons, and more lessons.

Haruka leaped off of the pavilion, striding to where a waiting attendant. The tutor was definitely rolling his eyes—Haruka could _see _it—but Haruka had never cared, and he wasn't about to start. With poised, deliberate steps, Haruka followed the attendant to their destination: the exclusive and illustrious main building.

The main building was a thing of wonder, even to Haruka. No one but the emperor, not even Haruka, had unlimited access to the building. Haruka was limited to the throne room, the leisure rooms, and the unoccupied meeting rooms, but everything else, from the quarters and occupied rooms were strictly off limits. Haruka had spent much of his time wandering the building, but it would be the first time Haruka would use the meeting rooms for their intended purpose: administrating the great empire of Nozomu.

The walk to the building was a blur as Haruka focused on calming his trembling limbs. When they exited open air to decorated rooms and long halls, Haruka felt a gross moisture at his hands. _You're the heir_, he scolded himself fiercely. _You're the composed, unfazed heir. Attending an administrative meeting is nothing. There's no reason to react this way_.

His body didn't listen, and the perspiration only escalated the more they neared the meeting room.

The attendant finally stopped before a sliding door, identical to the others but distinguishable to Haruka by the countless instances he wandered the main building. It was nothing new or particularly remarkable, especially compared to the gorgeous leisure rooms Haruka usually visited, but Haruka knew what laid beyond the door. He steadied his fan clumsily as the attendant slid the door open, revealing thirteen figures: his father in all his glory and twelve stone-eyed nobles

Everyone turned to face Haruka.

"Your Excellency, the Most Honorable Heir is present for the meeting," the attendant said, shattering the silence. Every noble returned to their papers, no longer interested in the new arrival. How impudent, Haruka thought. Yet refreshing. Haruka was no longer the highest being in his company.

"Haruka," the emperor said in his thick baritone. "Please take a seat."

The attendant closed the door and disappeared as Haruka sat down quietly in a seat at the far corner, away from the long table where the officials sat. Just like that, the room was as unfamiliar as Makoto's accent, despite all the standard furnishings that Haruka knew by heart from years of living in the palace. With the presence of government officials, all of whom Haruka was trained from birth to epitomize—Haruka found his heartbeat quickening.

Would they make a new law? Introduce an innovative system that would revolutionize the empire? No—Haruka quickly berated himself. Of course not. Not even an empire like Nozomu could be so prolific with day-to-day meetings, especially given the contradictions. Haruka's eyes lifted ever so slightly in realization. This was an opportunity to resolve the contradictions.

"Your Excellency, we are ready to begin our meeting," said the left minister, taking his seat beside the emperor's. The emperor nodded gravely.

"Proceed."

"Your Excellency, the Most Honorable Left Minister and I, His Humble Deputy, have received news from our diplomats concerning illegal activity that may hamper our ability to obtain silk," the right minister began, eyes skimming over a paper laid before him. "Our sources report an illegal tariff established by a third party in Nagi that may be the cause. My retainer is here to report his findings."

A man bowed deferentially to the emperor. "Permission to speak, Your Excellency."

"Permission granted."

The man picked up his papers. "Your Excellency, through my investigations, I've discovered a merchant group that has united Nagi's shipping companies under a corrupt agreement to tax incoming silk for the sake of debased personal gain. As for a resolution, I suggest dispatching a platoon of soldiers to arrest the merchants."

Another man bowed at the emperor. The emperor granted his permission.

"My informants in Nagi have also reported this information, Your Excellency," the man began. "However, I have also discovered that the merchant group has ties with a community of local lords that hold much dominion over Nagi. I would advise against dispatching soldiers, Your Excellency, as we risk invoking their wrath and losing important relations with our largest trade city."

Another man spoke.

"Overseer of the Roads, are you suggesting that the imperial power does not match that of the local landlords? My retainers are fully prepared to overcome any obstacle the imperial family should encounter along the way, violent or not. Perhaps your soldiers lack the competence for a frontal assault, but do not project this inability onto the entire imperial family."

And another.

"Do not be so vitriolic, Overseer of Peace. I am against devoting our forces to such mundane problems. I believe we should cultivate our domestic silk industry instead of relying on that of the mainland's."

Another.

"Have the crows pecked your head, Good Bureaucrat? Our relationship with the mainland is indispensable. To cut ties with the mainland is mad. We do not have the resources to go to war against the mainland."

"There it is again. Our imperial forces are fully competent for any adversary, mainland or not."

"You seem insistent on the competency of your soldiers, Overseer of Peace. However, I recall a group of bandits sacking a village the other day and your forces being unable to capture a single criminal."

"Good Bureaucrats, the bandits are not important. We must return to our discussion of abolishing this corrupt group of merchants. Our ceremonies would be greatly hampered should we not resolve this conflict."

"Which is why we should cultivate our domestic silk industry, Most Honorable Bureaucrats."

"Permission to speak, Father."

Another bureaucrat bowed before the emperor responded, ready to rebut, but froze when he realize who had spoken. All eyes shifted slowly, landing on the blue-eyed, satin-haired boy sitting at the corner of the room. The emperor's gaze hardened slightly.

"What is it, Haruka?"

Haruka wet his throat with one last gulp before he lowered the fan, revealing his face completely. "Father, may I inquire why we need the silk so urgently?"

No one spoke. The emperor motioned to the left minister.

"Many of our ceremonies necessitate silk," the minister said, tone frosty. "Our dress, the decorations, and the instruments involved in our holy ceremonies require silk as a material, and to lack silk is to be unable to perform the ceremonies at all."

Haruka felt his mind racing, forming lines between dots. Before he could think, he said, "Then why don't we stop the ceremonies?"

Silence.

A fire ignited in Haruka.

"I have an idea," he began, his words slowly gaining speed. "We should stop inputting the silk into our ceremonies and devote them to other causes. Perhaps we can offer it to the lords. Because their interests are most likely earning money, if we were to offer more incentives than the merchant group and create pressure against allying with the merchant group, they are likely to acquiesce easily. Our imperial family has many resources to spare for such a cause, and although it would mean living without certain comforts for a period of time, it would effectively stop this issue and perhaps improve the empire as a whole in the end."

Haruka closed his mouth, looking at the blank-faced nobles expectantly. Surely, they saw the logic in his proposal.

"Haruka," the emperor said, voice even. "Come here."

Haruka rose from his seat, the clack of his wooden sandals against tatami mats ringing in the air. He walked to the end of the long table, stopping at his father's side. His father rearranged his papers, grabbed his fan, and stood to face Haruka.

"Give me your hand, Haruka."

Haruka extended his hand. The emperor clutched it gently.

"Look at me."

Haruka did, staring into those dark brown orbs so unlike his own.

The fan hit Haruka's wrist.

A _crack_ resounded with a startled yelp that quickly devolved into pitched, ragged whimpers. Haruka flailed frantically, almost hitting his father in the process, but _crack_—the cypress sent shock waves through his arms and paralyzed his body. Tears began leaking from his eyes, ruining his makeup. He began trembling, falling shakily to his knees. His father's grip remained strong on his hand.

"Stand up, Haruka."

Haruka tried to force an acknowledgement from his lips, but it came out as a choked sob. He forced his legs to straighten.

"Look at the bureaucrats."

He did. Their eyes took in Haruka's ruined makeup, red face, and the uncontrolled shaking of his limbs.

"Apologize."

The words came forth in a humiliating mess of sobs, whimpers, and sniffles. "I-I'm sorry."

The men's faces, cold and unsympathetic, did not so much as twitch. The left minister finally broke the silence, saying with a thin smile, "You are pardoned."

The emperor released his vice-grip on Haruka's hand, sending him stumbling disgracefully to the ground. He looked up at his stone-faced father, eyes wide with pleading and fear and, rising from deep within, a flickering anger—

_Crack_. The fan hit his face. Haruka's head snapped back, feeling hot, hot fire being imprinted to his cheeks.

"Get out of the room."

Haruka wanted to scream. To protest. He bit his tongue so hard that it bled, salty liquid trailing down his bruising cheek as he pulled himself up slowly and stumbled out of the room. He turned back to face his father, all barriers stripped away to show every bit of hurt, fear, and mortification.

"You are dismissed, Haruka."

The door closed on Haruka, leaving him to crumble pathetically onto the tatami floor.

* * *

The days following Haruka's beating were surprisingly normal. The whispers were kept out of earshot. The lessons were continued as usual. The bruises on his body were fading away, and what was left was covered with layers and layers of concealer. Save for being barred from another administrative meeting for six years, almost all traces of the incident had disappeared.

Yet his bruises throbbed painfully.

No one mentioned the incident. Everyone regarded Haruka with the same decorum, the same plastered smiles, but Haruka wasn't a fool. His poetry tutor, in particular, remained deathly mute about the topic, but Haruka easily noticed the surreptitious glances and the cautious words. He knew that the poetry tutor knew. And the poetry tutor knew his life was in danger.

Haruka, as well, proceeded as usual. He studied vigorously for his tests. He went through his ceremonies. He regarded everyone with the utmost politeness. The only difference, if it was one at all, was the decreasing time he spent with Makoto. Sporadically, Haruka would be awash with shame in abandoning Makoto so unceremoniously, but the keen eyes, the listening ears, and the folded fans—

_ the fan hit his wrist hot, hot fire being imprinted to his cheeks ruined makeup, red face, and the uncontrolled shaking  
_

—crushed any lingering regret. Eventually, he stopped visiting Makoto altogether.

Haruka continued writing poetry. His opinions festered, crying to be heard, but now that his audience had died—his poetry teacher was cold and hostile—Haruka was left with no way to release the flaming thoughts. Haruka would lie awake at night, feeling the fire grow, feeling it push against his ribs and protest the dwindling space until he finally realized that if he did not release those flames, another incident would occur.

So he wrote poems in his spare time. And each time, Haruka wondered.

Each time, Haruka wondered if he really was to be a descendant of the gods, Heaven's authority on Earth. He wondered, in the deepest recesses of his bedroom, away from straying eyes and eager ears, if Heaven had made a mistake in putting him here. A good emperor was, at the most fundamental level, unquestioningly loyal to the empire and the imperial family. Haruka was not even that.

One night, some days following the incident, Haruka slid the paper door to his room firmly shut behind him. His expression decomposed from pleasant politeness to dead-eyed exhaustion, the talons of lethargy he fought away in the palace public gripping his shoulders tightly as his resolve faded away. He stood for a minute, unmoving.

Here, in his room, Haruka was naked. His fan slipped from his fingers, clattering noisily on the tatami mats, but Haruka didn't care.

Haruka walked past the bed, ignoring the shackles at his feet that grew heavier and heavier with each step. He sat—collapsed—before his table, mindlessly picking up the calligraphy brush and pulling out blank parchment from his shelves. His mind began wandering. Images, unspeakable thoughts, and popping emotions ran through his head.

Haruka's grip tightened around the calligraphy brush in his hand. The blank parchment stared at him. The untouched ink stone sat expectantly. The dying candle flickered questioningly.

Then, his hand began to move.

Haruka felt his mind slipping away. He moved unconsciously, possessed by whatever frenzy the gods were instilling in him. His hands trembled as he ground the ink stick sloppily into the stone, ignoring the liquid that splattered everywhere. His eyes roamed back and forth with a savage concentration. His brush slashed deep, ugly blacks into the now-stained parchment. The paper, attacked by furious strokes and blackness, crackled its weak protests.

He froze as suddenly as he began, the brush rolling out of his slackened hand and his chest heaving. With shaking hands, he picked up the paper and read the dark marks.

—

What do you do when

The walls don't bend?

When stone, unyielding

Provides needless shielding

When everything repeats

And it becomes such a feat

To follow the cycle

A most mundane survival.

Probing, the fish swim

And reticent winds make dim

Blue eyes in blue water_—__  
_

Sweet reflection, barely altered.

Yet, hidden beyond the surface

Within saccharine, navy curtains

A mute poet, unaccounted_—_

Too late; I am surrounded.

The blackness on the paper

That dies in the brazier

Cannot break walls

The system cannot fall.

—

He set the paper down. The candle's wax dripped slowly onto his table as the fire swallowed the lick gluttonously. He swallowed.

Haruka didn't belong here.

The realization sank through his skin like an oil bath. Like the crushing weight when Haruka was once pinned under his palanquin and felt his body compress inch by inch until his servants freed him. The causes—_whispers, glares, sneers, poems, fire, fire, fire_—fell on him all at once, as if the four servants supporting the palanquin had slackened their arms in synchronization, toppling everything over all at once.

Haruka felt himself sinking forward on his elbows, his hands fisting his hair, and he was awash with an incredible, almost irresistible urge to scream. To let out all his opinions to a real audience, to an audience that would take in his thoughts with sentience, not one that was thrown into a fire as soon as they came to be, but Haruka knew the consequences. Haruka wasn't a fool.

His bruises throbbed painfully.

He didn't scream, although his mouth opened into a voiceless, despairing imitation. It was shameful, unbecoming of the heir, but at that moment, Haruka wasn't a descendant of the gods or whatever silly contrivance his ancestors created to brag about the empire. Haruka was just a victim, a free mind being suffocated in a rapidly shrinking bubble of politics, beauty, and ceremonies that he absolutely loathed. He screamed quietly, begging the heavens—if they even existed—for a change. For a maelstrom that would shatter the perfect reflection in the mirror.

He fell forward completely, his upper body sprawled over the messy tabletop.

Haruka wasn't a fool. He knew that his wish was impossible. He knew that Heaven didn't exist.

Perhaps his doubt in the heavens was unfounded, because one year later, he met Rin.

* * *

**A/N: **See that? DBQ writing skills applied to fan fiction. I am a magician.

Major, major thanks to **CapturedByNoodles** and **Ko-Sensei** for helping me with the poems. Extra thanks to **CapturedByNoodles **for beta-ing this chapter! That's right, Ko-Sensei. Our polygamous relationship is unbalanced! (Or it was, before you saw this before you were supposed to. Angry face. All joking aside, **Ko-Sensei **deserves a lot of thanks as well.)

This chapter. I'm deading. Just deading. So long, so busy, so difficult. I just—DEADING. But I have persevered, although there _are _some problems with the chapter. Nonetheless, I have persevered!

Thanks to the reviewers! CapturedByNoodles, Ko-Sensei, Bloom Flower, curosityisn'tcurious, Vaelliance, 297.1, PaigeLaforet. I thrive on y'all's reviews. And look at that! Another y'all. I'm including one every chapter from now on. I'll bombard y'all so much that you crei and start deading. Okay, why does the English language not have a third person plural tense? Ay, ¡dios mio!

Until next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Shorter chapter this time because I can't kill myself trying to write a chapter every time, you know what I mean? But drama! And plot!

******Disclaimer:** Although this story is based on Heian Japan, please keep in mind that this is a fictional empire, not Japan. Therefore, not everything will be historically accurate.

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

It was so like Rin to barge back into Haruka's life after a soul-crushing absence.

The strange thought ran repeatedly through Haruka's mind as Rin continued his steps, ascending the podium and sitting at the table opposite of the emperor. Looking at the two together, one the esteemed leader of the esteemed court of an esteemed empire, and the other a mysterious, almost rogue returnee, Haruka felt stunned by the sheer difference. The emperor, while graceful and glorious in his assortment of ceremonial clothing, was small and, dare he say, _insignificant_ beside Rin's tall, muscled structure.

He wondered if that was the same difference between Rin and him.

Rash, unrestrained Rin. Moving however he pleased, regardless of the bonds he formed, of the people he affected. It was as if five years of absence that had overturned three pivotal years of Haruka's life was nothing to him. The thought didn't anger or sadden Haruka as much as it made him feel hollow. As empty as the vacuum that tore through Haruka's life since Rin's disappearance.

It was only suitable that Rin would flip his world upside-down yet again. Haruka wanted to laugh.

Rin's head went forward in a bow. The emperor followed, but much more shallowly. The emperor reached for his cup of tea, meeting Rin's gaze as the redhead did the same. They clinked cups, the emperor's held definitively higher than Rin's, before they simultaneously brought the cups to their lips and drank.

When they set their cups down, the emperor said, "Rin Matsuoka, I welcome your return to this grand palace."

Without missing a beat, Rin said, "I am forever indebted to your grace, Most Majestic Ruler."

Sasabe stepped forward and placed his hands on Rin's shoulder, muttering a prayer of some sort into his ears. Rin's gaze flickered ever so slightly, but before Haruka could contemplate it, Sasabe pulled away.

"May your return to the palace be fruitful and prosperous," the monk said. Rin nodded ever so slightly.

That was the official end of the ceremony, but no one dared to leave.

A group of servants walked forth, setting three palanquins on the ground, one for the emperor, one for Haruka, and one for Rin. They were completely unnecessary, their destination being the imperial garden's pavilion, but nonetheless, Haruka stepped into the horribly uncomfortable box, his fan covering the grimace he could not quite hold back.

A procession paraded to the pavilion, complete with marching guards and flying banners. Colorful kimonos and luxurious fans bobbed in the crowd, tinged a slight orange by the sun that was moving down from the sky. Haruka stared from within his palanquin, wishing that his robes weren't so heavy, that he didn't have to attend the ridiculous after-party, that Rin had never entered his life. But, of course, Heaven didn't exist; his wishes would never come true.

When the palanquin was finally set down and Haruka stepped daintily out of the box, the pavilion and the surrounding area was flooded with nobles, servants, and food. Relieved of decorum, the nobles gathered freely and gossiped. The emperor was helped out of his palanquin by a horde of servants, making quite a show. In the hubbub, Rin slipped away, unnoticed by all except Haruka.

A slight bump to his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. Haruka looked around, searching for the person impudent enough to touch the heir. There stood Amakata, dressed in her servants' robes and holding dishes upon dishes in her hands.

"Don't look so down, Nanase-sama. That frown is unbecoming."

Haruka ignored her words, remembering his anger at her and what she had told him about Makoto.

"Where's my personal guard?" Haruka snapped. Amakata's eyes twinkled as she motioned her head to the direction past Haruka's shoulders.

"Nanase-sama."

Haruka turned around to see warm green eyes and sandy brown hair. All at once, Haruka found the relief and comfort from Makoto's familiar presence combating the sick, twisting feeling in his gut. He glared at the soldier with a mixture of relief and anger, ignoring how Amakata winked and disappeared from sight.

"I apologize, Nanase-sama," Makoto said, smiling apologetically. "I would have informed you beforehand, but the situation was urgent."

Haruka struggled to maintain his anger, but it trickled away like pond-water through his fingers. He was tired. He didn't have the energy to be angry at Makoto, especially for something that had already passed.

While Rin had changed completely, Makoto embodied a certain familiarity and stability that Haruka had come to appreciate. His big bones had grown into broad shoulders and a muscular build, and the ever-pleasant expression on his face made him handsome with kindness. Makoto was as kind and soft-spoken as ever, and it was almost impossible to guess that he was an imperial soldier. His increasing excursions to the outside had made him even tanner, if that was possible, but his strange accent had mellowed with time in the palace.

"Don't do it again," Haruka muttered lowly, turning away to look at the festivities dully. Musicians performed; one's fingers danced over the strings of a zither, another blew sweet tones through a flute, and yet another struck the wood of his clappers together. Servants carried rice wine and sake to nobles' waiting hands as they gossiped animatedly. The emperor observed calmly from his platform, surrounded by all manners of servants and banners. The pavilion was a bustling sea of vibrant colors and droning chatters, and the setting sun only made it more beautiful.

A flash of red caught Haruka's eye. Rin's hair glowed a beautiful fire-orange from the other side of the gazebo, leaning over the wood railing and staring into the garden pond. From the back, Rin was wide-shouldered and handsome; time had aged him well.

Haruka's feet moved without conscious thought. Rin's body tensed, the returnee looking behind him as Haruka stopped an arms length away. They eyed each other intently. Haruka was first to break the silence.

"Hello," he said softly. It was short, sweet, informal, like everything he shared with the redhead.

Rin eyed him with a stony expression before turning away without an acknowledgement. Haruka felt a dull ache rise in his chest, making every shaky breath reverberate with pain. He ignored it, pushing forward tentatively.

"It's been a while."

Rin grunted lowly, a deep sound that bordered onto an unwelcoming growl. When Haruka didn't walk away—he couldn't, not when every muscle ached with a thick, soupy pain—Rin turned around, eyes blazing with the fakest, thinnest smile etched on his winsome face.

"I apologize, Most Honorable Heir," he said icily, "for intruding on your leisure time. I shall remove myself elsewhere."

His voice was familiar in its warbling, rugged cadence that Makoto once wore—Rin was always careful to hide his accent in formal situations, but it always slipped when he got emotional—but it was foreign in its hostility and harshness. Rin slipped away, his arms sliding off the pavilion's railing and his robes billowing a mottled brown. Passionate, frigid red disappeared into the crowd. Haruka was alone.

Haruka leaned over the railing, squeezing his eyes painfully shut and hoping that no one saw. Everything hurt. There was some sort of acid in his body, eating away at his skin and making everything heavy with weight of burning flesh. _Rin_, he thought, his stomach twisting painfully. _Who are you? What have you become? Did you forget about me? Do you hate me?_

Soft footsteps marked by the fleshy sound of jostling leather. Haruka didn't look up as Makoto stopped shortly behind him, close enough to be comforting but far enough to respect the heir's sacred bubble.

"It's all right, Nanase-sama," the soldier said kindly, but something odd tinged his syllables. "Please forget about him. He's not who you think he is."

Haruka knew enough about Makoto to hear the low warning in his words. He looked back finally, a bitter fire kindling as he processed Makoto's words.

"Who are you," he began with a discomposed, acrid hiss, "to order me around, servant?"

Makoto flinched slightly. Not even years of training were able to dull the fierceness of Haruka's words, but his gaze held strong. "Please stay away from Rin Matsuoka. It's for your own safety."

Haruka returned his gaze to the sunset-colored pond. "You are dismissed, servant."

When Makoto didn't disappear instantly, Haruka waited for his resistance to inevitably crack. It did, as always—Haruka had come to appreciate his friend's spinelessness—and Makoto left without another word. Haruka was left to watch the darkening sky in silence.

When the sun had almost disappeared, the festivities slowed. Nobles walked to their residences in flocks while commuters huddled anxiously, waiting for escorts. Darkness blanketed over the once bright pavilion, hiding secrets in the shadows. There was no danger within palace grounds, but outside laid the unknown, the mysterious force hanging commuters all over public squares of Koto. No one dared to leave palace grounds. Not without protection.

Makoto sidled up to Haruka as he climbed into his palanquin.

"I need to go," he said kindly. "The commuters are awaiting escorts, and we're short on guards."

Haruka glared at him. Makoto's eyes gleamed a sad forest green, and he disappeared into a group of soldiers. The largest, most formidable guard looked up suddenly, squinty gaze meeting Haruka's. Haruka nodded slightly at the man, hoping the acknowledgement would break the uncomfortable stare. Instead, the guard smiled lightly.

"Wish us luck, Most Honorable Heir," the guard said with a salute. Haruka shuddered, feeling cold fingers ghost over his spine.

"Good luck," Haruka said uneasily. The guard grinned, his squinty eyes rising into eerie slits, before finally turning away and commanding the soldiers to disperse. Haruka felt relief wash over him.

The soldiers and commuters disappeared through the palace gates, and Haruka crawled stiffly into the palanquin. He was suddenly informed, right as the servants lifted the box, that the emperor and Monk Sasabe wanted to talk to him in the main building. Unable to withhold an irritated _tsk_, Haruka snapped a command to the waiting servants, and the palanquin walked into the darkness.

* * *

In one of the main building's many meeting rooms, pitch black except for the sole candle placed on the table, Sasabe brought his cup of tea to his lips and stared at Haruka.

"Have you heard, Nanase-sama? About what happened in Matsuoka-san's absence?"

Haruka shook his head numbly as a servant filled his cup. He waved the servant away and took a ginger sip, listening to the _click _of the servant shutting the door behind her.

"Apparently, the bandits spared him because he was young. They let him go, and he got by living in a small trading town called Momo. Surprising, isn't it? That bandits can be so honorable."

"There is nothing honorable about bandits," Haruka said flatly, setting down his cup. "Bandits are parasites; they only cause trouble for the empire and its subjects."

The monk made a noise reminiscent of a wheeze and a chortle. "Cynical as always, Most Honorable Heir."

"Where is my father?" Haruka asked curtly, ignoring the servant who refilled his cup. "If he is not coming, I shall depart."

The monk laughed again. "Patience, Nanase-sama. It would be a grave insult if he came and saw your absence. Impatience is a disrespectful trait to the gods."

Haruka hid his scowl behind the cup. Sasabe didn't seem to notice, proceeding to babble on and on about the one person Haruka didn't want to think about.

"...and it's interesting, don't you think, that Matsuoka-san managed to return. More importantly, that he returned after five years. If he was alive the entire time, why didn't he return sooner? It's a curious thing, don't you think? But, of course, the gods must have decreed it so, so it's pointless to question it, but nonetheless..."

Haruka looked up, and suddenly, Sasabe's face was much closer than he wanted it to be. Haruka resisted the urge to cringe, glaring at the jaggedly-lit face.

"...it's curious, don't you think?"

"There is nothing curious about it," Haruka ground out through clenched teeth. Sasabe laughed his mischievous, sly laugh, the action made more eerie by the flickering candlelight.

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes," Haruka almost snarled.

Sasabe hummed, an unreadable glint in his eyes. "It's a strange coincidence that Matsuoka-san's father and the emperor hated each other."

"I don't understand what you're trying to say," Haruka said coldly. Sasabe smiled.

"It's also awfully convenient that Matsuoka-san's group was attacked, don't you think?"

Haruka's grip tightened on his fan. He wanted to slap the impudent monk. Sasabe suddenly leaned in, past the table, past Haruka's face, stopping right beside Haruka's ear. Haruka couldn't resist shuddering when whispered words tickled his ear.

"Perhaps the emperor tried to assassinate Rin."

The cups clattered noisily as Haruka jolted upright suddenly, knees hitting the table's edge. He glowered at the monk, fan raised, hand trembling.

"You are to be quiet, Monk Goro Sasabe, or I will have my father execute you as soon as he arrives."

Monk Sasabe, who had careened backwards during Haruka's sudden rise to land unbecomingly on his bottom, shifted his gaze away to the darkness, a wily smile adorning his lips. "_If_ the emperor comes, that is."

Haruka felt his mind turn blank. "You lied," he said with flat revelation. "The emperor was never going to come."

Sasabe's face contorted with mock disbelief. "How could you, the Most Honorable Heir, accuse me, the emperor's Most Trusted Advisor and member of the monastic order, of lying?"

Haruka threw his fan onto the table, knocking over the candle and relishing the satisfying _crack _of impact. "Goodbye, Goro Sasabe. May you rot in the deepest pits of hell."

Haruka stomped out, past the wide-eyed servants, past the fancy navy doors, into the night. Everything was red, red with fury, red with his fan's color, red with Rin's hair and eyes. His heartbeat and breaths were rapid and shallow, and his throat threatened to tear apart with the overwhelming urge to scream. He didn't like it. Didn't like the ugly demon that was suffocating him from within, telling him to destroy, destroy, destroy. He needed to exorcise it.

The inferno was doused suddenly by cold logic. The cherry tree; his refuge.

Haruka looked back and forth, scanning for any stray nobles, before running unsteadily against the stone path.

* * *

The cherry tree was dying.

Haruka didn't remember when the wilting leaves and the graying branches became a familiar sight. It happened some time within the past five years—it was, after all, when Haruka was most unaware of the world around him—but it was a silent reminder of the futility of everything he did. Even the miraculous cherry tree was succumbing to death.

Regardless, he stumbled blindly to where he knew it stood, feet moving on their own. Despite rotting bark, falling branches, and colorless leaves, the cherry tree was a place of comfort to Haruka. Not even death could undermine seventeen years of familiarity. He pushed through the darkness, looking forward to comfort, to quietude, to the small, untouched world that was his and his alone and would purge his mind of red hair and red eyes.

Soon, the dry, cracked branches appeared. Haruka's breath caught; a smudge of red stood before it, lit with a cold moonlight blue.

Rin was here.

Haruka's steps wavered, one foot poised to turn away and run, but suddenly, Rin's eyes were on him. He felt himself trapped between the overwhelming urge to run away and the acknowledgement from Rin that paralyzed his body. Rin stepped away from the cherry tree, scowling deeply.

"What do you want?"

The rudeness shocked Haruka. He felt angry and lost.

"Is it wrong for the heir to enjoy a stroll in the garden?" he snapped, seeing red. What was Rin doing here? Could he not escape Rin no matter where he ran? Why did Rin have to do this? Why did everything come back to Rin?

Rin's scowl deepened. "I don't know. I would think the heir would exercise more caution than going out at night. Perhaps a squirrel will decapitate you."

Haruka wished he didn't throw away his fan so he could hide the uncontrolled quivering of his lips. How dare he! How dare he disrespect the Most Honorable Heir! Haruka's breaths quickened; he struggled to force the emotion away with deep sighs.

"I apologize for intruding," Haruka said coldly. "I assure you, a squirrel will not decapitate me."

Haruka felt his anger slip into a muted despair. It was happening again. Rin was nosing his way into Haruka's life and turning his world upside-down. Then, Rin would leave again, and Haruka would be left with nothing but shattered glass and broken red strings. The thought hurt like talons squeezing his heart.

_Not again_, he thought. _I won't let this happen again_.

"I'm sorry," Haruka said quietly. "For not defending you."

Emotion flashed into Rin's eyes, and he seemed to swell with provocation. Haruka ignored it, ignored how pressured he felt to stop talking and run away, and pushed on.

"It was my fault," he continued. "I should've said something. I could have helped you."

"Shut up."

"And I should have apologized five years ago."

"Shut up."

"I really am sorry."

"I said _shut up._"

Haruka fell quiet, hope deflating with the furious expression on Rin's face.

"You're a fool, Haru." The nickname burrowed a stake into Haruka's heart. "Have always been. Still are. You think I give a shit about what happened five years ago? Don't flatter yourself. Stop thinking everything revolves around you."

Haruka's eyes lidded. He thought of the time his father had beat him in front of the nobles. He thought of the squeezing humiliation. He felt his resolve slipping away, retreating farther and farther into the pool within his mind.

"I apologize for my presumptuousness," Haruka said quietly, head sinking down.

Rin moved suddenly, throwing Haruka against the cherry tree. Haruka gasped from impact, then winced as the claw-like grip on his shoulders dug his back into the bark.

"There you go again," Rin snarled lividly.

Yes. There Haruka went again, saying the wrong thing. Haruka watched Rin's muscles flex and shudder from under his robes, casting waves and shadows in the cheap brown material.

"You're such a coward. A fool. You never learn, do you? You need to run to Makoto to protect you? Take advantage of him?"

When Haruka didn't reply, Rin's face pressed so closely to Haruka's that he could feel every breath the rogue breathed on his lips. Haruka stared at the angry red orbs, feeling fear creep into his mind.

Rin was strong. Much stronger than Haruka, whose arms were as thin as noodles, whose bones jutted from his slender, unmuscled form. Rin could crush him if he wanted to. Rin seemed to know this, a hand releasing its vice-grip on Haruka's shoulder and threading through Haruka's hair roughly. Rin pulled his head up with a rough jerk.

"This empire is going to fall, Haru. And you're going with it."

Hot breath; Rin was so close. Haruka could feel every movement from Rin's body reverberate through his own. Rin's entire frame shook as if he were a taut bowstring. Haruka didn't dare breath, fearful that the slightest movement would release the string and send arrows cascading onto his helpless body. Haruka was at Rin's mercy.

As always.

"...tch."

Rin pulled away with one final shove. He glared at Haruka, expression bearing so much hate and fury, before stomping away. Haruka was left leaning against the tree, staring tiredly at Rin's retreating figure.

"I'm sorry," he said to Rin's back. Rin did not reply.

Just like that, Rin disappeared into the night, leaving Haruka alone with nothing but pain.

As always.

* * *

A snap.

The noble shrieked in the carriage, jostling the entire frame and making the ox snort with annoyance. Aizawa resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead keeping his expression carefully neutral.

"What was that? What was it? Guard, investigate the noise immediately, but do not leave me!"

"Most Honorable Bureaucrat, I believe the carriage's wheel has encountered a twig," Aizawa said calmly, voice even and smooth with faked respect. "There is no dangerous presence within our vicinity."

"How are you sure? You incompetent guards will say anything! Outsider! Why should I trust you?"

This time, Aizawa did roll his eyes, but the darkness of the night hid the gesture from the noble. "I assure you, Most Honorable Bureaucrats, that my thirty years of experience and my dedication to preserving your life make me well-qualified in escorting you back to your manor."

_Fools, all of them_, Aizawa thought. The imperials were stupid pigeons too engrossed in their reflections to tell apart a pouncing cat from a feather. If it wasn't for the luxury that the emperor provided him, Aizawa would have long deserted the imperial household and go off on his own, perhaps becoming a mercenary or a bandit, or perhaps even joining one of those rebel groups. But the emperor paid well for a facile job, and Aizawa was not interested in diving into the real world when such a haven, as temporary and unfounded as it was, existed.

And, of course, because of the heir.

"Can this ox not travel any faster? Why must it dawdle so?" the noble exclaimed, scanning between the thick maple trees that surrounded their path. "They're out there, I know it. Those scoundrels. I'm going to be hung!"

Aizawa's patience threatened to snap, but a few deep breaths warded the redness. "I assure you, sir, that you will not be hung. We are travelling a popular route, and the likelihood of anyone even daring to assassinate you would be nonexistent. Even assuming that such a threat is present, travelling faster would only create more noise and attract attention, and I am still present to guard you."

The noble quieted for a second before returning to shrieking. "I'm going to die! I'm going to be hung! I haven't even been able to move into the palace! It's too early for me to die!"

Aizawa grated his teeth. Logic: something imperials should have, yet don't. The only level-headed noble Aizawa had ever encountered was the heir, through his little green-eyed pupil.

All at once, Aizawa felt his nerves melt away into calmness. Haruka Nanase, the sinfully pretty, attractively intelligent young man who was to inherit the imperial throne. Aizawa knew his mother when he was just a cadet, and he had been bewitched by her beauty and her stubbornness. He had fantasized of a romantic affair between the poor outsider and the gorgeous, sheltered princess, but the emperor had ruined everything by marrying the love of his life and killing her afterwards. Now, Haruka Nanase was the last piece of his love left.

But no; Aizawa didn't see his love in Nanase. Nanase was amazing on his own, the resident prodigy and star of the palace. He was polite, mild, and obedient, and thinking back to the times when he guarded the heir's virtue as he changed in his room, when pale, milky skin was freed of the adorning silk curtain, when slender limbs, smooth thighs, and the slight jutting of his bones were revealed, Aizawa felt a heat rising at his—

A sudden crash jolted Aizawa out of his thoughts. He looked at the carriage, muttering a curse when he saw the broken wheels, the wailing ox, and the noble that was no longer there. Adrenaline pumping, he jumped through the trees, following the shadowy figure that flitted right beyond his reach.

_Flit_. Aizawa careened, barely dodging the shuriken that almost hit his eye. He missed a branch, falling through shrubbery and landing on his back with a wheeze. Leaping back onto his feet, he surged forward, feeling his iron plating press down on his shoulders.

Shit, shit, _shit_. Everything was wrong. He should've worn his light armor. He should've landed on the branch. He should've paid attention. The black figure danced in and out of his vision. With a final yell, he hurled a throwing knife with all his might.

_Thk._

The figure disappeared completely. Aizawa sprinted forward to find his knife embedded in a tree trunk. Aizawa stared at the knife with disbelief. He screamed, pulling it out and stabbing the trunk repeatedly.

"Not fair!" he screamed. Bark sprayed everywhere, getting into his eyes. "Not fucking fair!"

It was the second time something like this had happened. When some stupid third party kidnapped his person of interest, leaving him with nothing but humiliation and disgrace to the one person he hated more than anything in the world: the emperor.

The knife slipped from his hands. Aizawa threw his head back, screaming without a care in the world. He wouldn't take this. Not again. He would get his revenge. He didn't care what he had to do, who he had to kill. _He would get his revenge_.

His head fell forward as a realization swam through his head. Haruka Nanase. Rin Matsuoka's return.

A sneer etched his face, lifting his already-squinty eyes into slits of malevolence and hate.

He knew what to do.

* * *

**A/N:** Cue dramatic music. Aizawa knows what to do!

As always, many thanks to **CapturedByNoodles** for beta-ing. It really speeds up the process of writing these chapters!

So this chapter actually had things _happen_. I know, right? How is it possible? On another note, a cover for this fic, drawn by yours truly, will be ready shortly! I hope y'all like it! If you don't, I'll crei. Or I'll be deading from embarrassment. Either/or.

Thanks to all the lovely reviewers! CapturedByNoodles, Vaelliance, curiosityisn'tcurioisus, PyreflyPrincess, PinkSugarDust, Elvent (welcome back!). Your reviews keep me going and potentially make me update in less than a week! Such as today! So review! Of course, it's not mandatory! Not that I was suggesting that it's mandatory! I should stop!

See you next time!


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